


Painting A Picture (Of You)

by PursuitOfDiscovery



Series: Two Hundred and Twenty One Baker Streets [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Sherlock AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:27:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3241328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PursuitOfDiscovery/pseuds/PursuitOfDiscovery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock paints a picture of his favourite army doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painting A Picture (Of You)

“Sherlock, when I said yes to that insane idea of yours, I meant I will be a model, a fully clothed one.” John sighed.  
“What fun is that? Now, undress, I need to start the sketch!” Sherlock was hopping about on his foot, impatient as always.  
Oh what the hell. “Fine, give me a second.”  
Sherlock trod off, muttering something about ‘snails’ and ‘couldn’t be slower’. John rolled his eyes.  
John wasn’t embarrassed about being naked around his friend for his stupid-ass art project. He wasn’t even embarrassed about being demanded to strike a seductive pose. No, he was just scared out of his mind…because he had a crush on Sherlock.  
It had started out small enough. You’d have to be blind not to notice Sherlock’s ethereal form, his ramrod back, those sly half smirks, those oh so delicate fingers grasping a pencil and making them dance across the page. Add to that the fact that he was his roommate, and John was becoming undone every second he was near him. A year had gone by and his feeling had only grown. For his part, Sherlock had shown little to no interest in anyone around him, but John could only hope.  
He emerged out of the bathroom, stark naked, a red flush spreading from his chest to his face.  
“I’m ready.”  
Sherlock’s piercing gaze settled on him, eyes raking over his body.  
“Let’s get started.”

***

Sherlock had never met someone so perfect.  
John Watson was the epitome of art. His body, so deliciously golden, was doing things to him. He took a deep breath. Not now, Holmes.  
Sherlock started to sketch the perfect form in front of him. Lines flowed along the length of the page, capturing his legs, his calves, his arching back, the delicate folds of his torso, his soft sandy hair, the very picture of serenity. It was like studying the sensuality of the human body. His breath hitched. Not now, Holmes.  
He moved from his body to the features etched onto his face. Those eyes. Sherlock could swear that the sea herself had surrendered to John, letting herself be captured in his eyes. It changed all the time, stormy grey to a brilliant summer blue. Sherlock had to force himself to stop goddamn staring.  
He rendered the shape of his lips. John’s lips were exquisite bows; they had to be Cupid’s creations. He wanted to lean over and claim those lips for they had to belong on Sherlock, had to be tasted, nibbled, bitten. It was all he could do to resist himself, when Watson was spread out before him, waiting. He bit back a moan. John looked over to him, a question in his eyes. How he did that, Sherlock had no idea. Steadying himself, he concentrated on a…safe spot. His shoulders. Oh, but how beautifully they rolled when he moved…  
Sherlock carefully set aside his notepad and pens, edging towards John and all the promises he held  
Now, Holmes.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me; they're BBC's works of fiction.  
> This is my first attempt at fan fiction; do not hesitate to comment/criticise.


End file.
